Shot Through the Heart
by Lex Complex
Summary: In which Apollo tries to kill Love but ends up taking him home instead. ONESHOT.


I'm not a bad person (or divine being, depending on how you want to look at it). And if you ask my sister, she'd tell you I'm not clever either. Don't listen to her, I'm awesome. What I'm not is the type to hurt someone. But even a plastic knife can kill if it goes in deep enough, right? What more an arrow in the hands of an archer god?

The answer is it can kill even better than a plastic knife (duh), unless you're dealing with another god, in which case I really should've thought my plan out a little more. I can almost hear my sister's smug laugh as she mumbles, "Not clever_."_ Shut up, Sis.

Fourteenth of February, in a restaurant in Paris whose name I won't even try to pronounce, I'm standing in front of a winged man crumpled on the floor. You know, Eros A.K.A. Cupid, the god of love and Aphrodite's son. Don't ask me what we're doing in a French restaurant—things happen in the grand scheme of trying to kill someone and I don't want to get into details. Anyway, Cupid's a handsome dude (not as handsome as me, though). Pale, too, but I guess that's because he has an arrow sticking through his chest and ichor—the blood of immortals—is pouring out of the wound in a steady stream. I'd write an elegy but this guy isn't going to die. Unfortunately.

Why did I shoot Cupid? Call it an _eclipse _in my personality, pardon the pun. If the person you love dies in a freak accident and you find out it's because _someone_ thought it would be amusing to make the West Wind fall in love and become jealous, wouldn't you have an eclipse as well? Well, this is that someone, and from the looks of it, he's not very amused right now. Love's all fun and games till you get shot through the heart.

But like I said, he's a god like me. He isn't going to die. And like I also said, I'm not really a bad person. So what I do is put him in my sports car—currently a smokin' red Ferrari, in case anyone's wondering—and drive back to our place in Olympus. Artemis is off in some adventure with her girl scouts and woodland creatures, so I have the house to myself. This is good because the last thing I want is someone finding out I shot a fellow god. The guys up here can get crazy over politics. You should've seen them when they were trying to pick who to kick out so Dionysus can be an Olympian. They could've just made it the _thirteen_ Olympians, you know. Or is that an unlucky number? Poor Hestia.

The whole immortal thing starts acting up soon and Cupid's wound begins healing on its own. The arrow's gone, by the way, and I don't know how he managed to get it out. I don't want to think about it, really. He's still weak, though, and the most he can do is glare at me while sprawled on my couch. Excuse me,_ our _couch. I keep forgetting I live with my sister. It's as bad as it sounds.

"When I get up, I'm going to literally _break_ your heart," Cupid says, his voice dropping an octave lower. He could give Kronos a run for his money on the evil threats department.

"Sorry, you can't break a heart that's already broken." Wow, that sounded so emo, so... Hades.

A little smile spreads across the injured man's face. "Do tell." This strange guy—he loves heartache and sob stories. It's hard to believe his mother's the goddess who loves fairy tales and chick flicks. He must take after the dad.

"Hyacinthus," I mutter. "Turned into a flower. Ring any bells?"

"Of course. He was, I quote, _only a friend_ to you, am I right?"

"It's your job to know that's not true, isn't it? It's also your job to know what I felt about him."

"And it is _also_ my job to help people deal with such feelings, as Favonius was experiencing. I gave the West Wind the push he needed. Unfortunately, I may have pushed a little too hard and the resulting actions led to—Well, you know better than anybody." He chuckles.

"Do you want another arrow? I have plenty."

"I'm sure you do. But I'll decline."

It really isn't like me to get this worked up, but I can't think straight when he's just laughing off the death of my friend. His counterpart is presumably Thanatos, death incarnate himself, so I guess that would explain it. I still want to shoot him full of holes, though. I'm starting to understand why we don't see him in Olympus or why Aphrodite doesn't talk about him.

I fish for some ambrosia from the kitchen to help speed up the healing. The sooner he's out the door, the better.

"Do you have any regrets?" he suddenly asks, his face harsh but sad at the same time.

"Regrets about what?"

"Falling in love."

There's a long pause where neither of us say anything. Cupid finishes his ambrosia and I settle on the couch beside him. Finally, I manage to clear my head enough to compose a haiku.

"I have only one,

I regret that I did not,

Tell him I loved him."

Cupid looks me in the eye and smiles. It's an honest-to-goodness smile without any shred of malice behind it. "Simple and sincere, the right way to approach Love. I could almost forgive you for shooting me right now."

"Don't think I'm going to stop you. Forgive away."

"Unfortunately, it's not that easy. I am not a nice guy."

"Tell me something I don't already know."

Despite hating his guts just a few minutes ago, I find myself laughing along with him. When he's smiling, I could almost believe this guy is the god of love.

"I'm sure he knew," Cupid tells me, a knowing look in his eyes.

"What?"

"Hyacinthus. I'm sure he knew how you felt. And you know that, too, don't you? You're supposed to know everything."

"Not _everything_. Otherwise, I wouldn't have bothered wasting an arrow on you. Celestial Bronze doesn't grow on trees."

"I like to believe you still would've shot me even if you knew."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Because we do crazy things in the name of Love. Did you know that on Valentine's Day, the city of Verona—where Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet lived—receive about a thousand letters addressed to Juliet every year? And people think loving another man is absurd?"

I listen to Cupid recite Valentine trivia for a good whole hour. The hostile air between us seems to have disappeared, and I'm thankful for that. I don't want him telling Zeus—or worse, Sis—about what I did. It ranks high on the list of dumb things I did but don't really regret, and I'd be lucky if all I get is a scolding.

"You know," I say, "you're pretty cool for a guy with wings who lives in some ruins in Croatia. Not as cool as me, of course, but still kind of cool."

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

"Yes, you should."

"Should I thank you, then?"

"Yes, you should."

Again, we laugh.

"Well, this was fun," he tells me with a hint of sarcasm. "Not as fun as getting impaled by a golden arrow, but it comes rather close. I assume you're going to give me a lift back home?"

"Only if we stop by that French restaurant first. I paid for that meal and by the river Styx I am going to get my escargot."

**-END-**

**A/N:** Sorry, they're OOC, I know. It was something I wrote in less than an hour because I couldn't fall asleep. Hope you liked it even a little.


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